


Prompt 8: Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [8]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Peril, Period-Typical Homophobia, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html8. Oh the Weather Outside is FrightfulComforting someone who’s sick/injured/upset while trapped together because of bad weather.Isis goes missing in a snowstorm, Thomas and Jimmy are tasked with finding her.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 8: Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

Isis was a bloody little _shite_ and Jimmy hoped he found her first so he could bash her stupid doggy brains in.

“You don’t mean that,” Thomas said when Jimmy voiced as much, his breath a white plume in the cold air.

“Oh I bloody do,” Jimmy said, trying to rub some feeling into his numb hands, “sending us all on a wild goose chase in this weather.” It had been snowing on and off for a week and the grounds around Downton were covered in a six-inch blanket of white. “You’d think it was one of the ladies what had gone missing, all the fuss his lordship’s makin’.”

Thomas chuckled at that and said; “He’d leave the estate and his title to Isis if he could.”

They reached the tree line and ventured carefully into the woods just as it started to snow again. It was nearing dusk, the temperature dropping along with the sun and the bare trees offered meagre protection from the elements - the biting wind still managed to creep in around the branches and pelt them with snowflakes. Jimmy’s hair was wet with slushy snow, his cheeks burning, and he’d never longed for his horrible, creaky old bed as much as he did in that moment.

They walked quietly for a few minutes, peering into the gloom for any sign the stupid dog had been this way. Thomas was wearing a heavy woollen overcoat over his livery, the collar turned up against the wind. Jimmy couldn’t help but stare at his broad back and the line of his shoulders - Thomas might be _lavender_ , but he was undeniably masculine. Jimmy was secretly jealous of the under-butler’s stature and his ability to grow a beard almost on command. Jimmy didn’t even have to shave every day.

“Thomas,” Jimmy started, “I - uh - can I ask you something.”

Thomas fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, “You can ask. I might not deign to answer.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Well, y’know how you’re, y’know, the _sort_ you are?”

Thomas stopped to light his cigarette and fixed Jimmy with a withering look. “I am familiar with it, yes.”

“How did you know? Did you just wake up one day and think ‘huh, I fancy blokes’ or...?”

“Jimmy,” Thomas warned.

“I’m not tryin’ to make fun,” Jimmy said and motioned for Thomas to give him a drag of his cig. “I - you’re my friend so, y’know, I want to understand.”

Thomas took his cig back from between Jimmy’s lips. “I don’t think it’s a conversation either of us will enjoy.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But I want...”

“It’s always about what _you_ want, isn’t it?” Thomas said, annoyed. “Because the world revolves around Jimmy bloody Kent.”

“Well sorry for breathin’,” Jimmy huffed.

Thomas walked away, ostensibly restarting the search for the dopey dog, and Jimmy followed after him, aggrieved. It stung that Thomas didn’t trust him enough to open up, but when Jimmy thought about it he realised he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about himself either.

“After me mum died, and before I started workin’ at Anstruther’s,” Jimmy started, knowing Thomas would be unable to ignore him when he was offering up something about himself freely. It had the desired effect- Thomas turned his attention back on the footman. “I, well - guess what I did for a living?”

Thomas thought for a beat and said; “Well we can rule out hard work. I know how much you hate that.”

“Cheeky,” Jimmy smirked, “go on.”

“Ok, you were either a thief or a card sharp, or both,” Thomas replied. “I know you cheat when we play, no point denying it. One time you had seven aces.”

Jimmy grinned; “Nothing gets past you Mr Barrow.”

“I let you get away with it though, so more fool me. Oh, watch your footing here,” Thomas started, “its as slippery as - ah!” His simile went unfinished as he tripped on something hidden beneath the snow, went tumbling down into a small ditch and disappeared beneath a snow drift.

“Thomas!” Jimmy scrabbled down into the ditch after him, the former disagreement forgotten. The snow at the bottom of the ditch almost up to Jimmy’s waist. Thomas’s head and shoulders popped up out of the drift, his bowler lost somewhere under the snow, flakes caught up like diamonds in his hair.

“Shite, _shite_ ,” he said and winced as he tried to get up. Jimmy took his hands and pulled, but Thomas gave a low grunt of pain. “My ankle,” he said through gritted teeth, “must’ve turned it when I fell.”

“I’ll help you - lean on me okay?” Jimmy said. Between them they managed to get Thomas up and they scrabbled on all-fours to escape the slippery ditch. Thomas leaned heavily on Jimmy, an arm thrown around his shoulders.

“This - this is - I’m going to _kill_ that dog,” Thomas panted.

“Now who wants to bash its brains in?”

They hopped and limped to the tree line, only to find themselves in a white-out.

“Bugger,” Jimmy said, “can’t even see which way’s what.”

“I can’t do this Jimmy,” Thomas grimaced, “there’s no way I can limp back through this storm. Leave me here and go on and get help.”

Jimmy was scandalised. “What, an’ come back to find you frozen to death? Not likely. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Thomas pulled a sceptical face. “Jimmy, you’d struggle to even walk back through this, you’d have no chance of carrying me an’ all.”

The wind howled, whipping snowflakes into their faces like freezing shards of glass, and somehow it started to snow even harder than before.

“Just go on with you,” Thomas tried to push Jimmy away, “it’ll do no good for us both to freeze to death.”

“No,” Jimmy held on, a steadying arm still wrapped around Thomas’s waist, his numb fingers gripping Thomas’s hip as tightly as the cold would allow. “I won’t leave you here. And we’ve more chance with the two of us, we just need to find some shelter.”

“Easier said than done,” he blinked, “oh wait, I know somewhere that might do.” Thomas pointed back into the trees. “There’s an old gamekeeper’s shed not far from here. It would be warmer in there.”

“Alright, point us in the right direction.”

It was a five minute walk to the old shed, so it took almost fifteen to hobble through the snow. Jimmy deposited a shivering Thomas on a dusty old tarp and forced the door closed. It was dark in the shed but Jimmy used a match from his pocket to mooch around - he found an old stump of a candle under the table, a crate with a moth-eaten blanket, a rusty little stove and a pile of firewood that turned out to be the home of a fat little mouse.

Jimmy lit the candle, evicted the mouse and started stuffing sticks into the stove - it would be a miracle if he could get the thing started but it was worth a try. Thomas had pulled off his boot and was gingerly poking his ankle - even in the low light Jimmy could see it was swollen and bruised.

“You alright?” Jimmy said.

Thomas nodded tightly, “Don’t think it’s dislocated or broken, just a nasty sprain made worse by limping about in the snow.”

Jimmy lit several matches in quick succession and threw them into the stove - the firewood was so old and dry it took easily, so Jimmy risked a bigger log. The effect was instant - the little shed was illuminated with a warming orange glow. Jimmy noticed Thomas was shivering and helped him shuffle closer to the fire then sat down beside him.

“See, you silly sod,” Jimmy said, bumping his shoulder against Thomas’s, “told you we’d do better together.”

“Funny,” Thomas replied, “I’ve thought that since the day we met.”

Jimmy snickered at that, “So did I, if I’m honest.”

“I thought you were all _Jimmy contra mundi_.”

“Yeah, before I knew you,” Jimmy sighed, “now it’s Thomas _and_ Jimmy, contra mundum.”

Thomas turned to Jimmy, his face more open than Jimmy thought he had ever seen it. “That means a lot to me Jimmy. I’m forever grateful that you gave me another chance after, y’know.”

Jimmy shrugged, “S’all in the past that.” He shuffled closer, for warmth. “But I’m curious, how did you know about this place?”

Thomas laughed, abashed. “Oh that’s a sorry tale and funnily enough the blasted dog’s part of it too.”

Thomas recounted how he’d hidden Isis in the shed, planning to miraculously find her later in order to ingratiate himself to his Lordship, only for the clot of a canine to really go missing.

Jimmy clutched his stomach and doubled over with laughter. “Thomas, that’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard of. Did you really expect that to work?”

“It did work,” Thomas said smugly, “I was made valet.”

“But - but how?”

“I’d been looking for that dumb dog all afternoon and I was in a right state, livery a mess, covered in dirt, and I bumped into his lordship. He was impressed with the effort I put in,” Thomas shrugged, “even if it were some bloody village kids what found her.”

“Bloody hell, Lord Grantham really is a plonker,” Jimmy guffawed, “and so are you.”

“Must be to be sittin’ here with you.”

“You wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Thomas turned, his face suddenly serious, “You’re not wrong there. Knackered ankle notwithstanding. And you know that question you asked me earlier?”

“Yes?” Jimmy felt himself lean closer involuntarily, as if pulled by gravity, his side warm where he was pressed against Thomas.

“I just - I always knew I was different,” Thomas sighed. “Pretty sure my dad knew too, which would explain why he hated me so much.”

“Was it bad at home?”

For a moment Thomas looked deeply sad, like just the memory of it was physically painful. “You have no idea. It’s why I ended up in service at fourteen instead of being trained up to take over the clock business.”

Jimmy covered Thomas’s hand with his own; “I’m sorry. Did he beat you?”

Thomas huffed out a laugh. “That would be putting it mildly.”

“You didn’t deserve that, no matter what you’d done. You deserve good things.”

Thomas’s eyebrows shot up, “I won’t disagree with you there. Now I just need to find someone to give me those aforementioned _good things_.”

“I could,” Jimmy said. He reached out and cupped Thomas’s cheek - it was warm against Jimmy’s palm, “I could give you good things, Thomas.”

Thomas swallowed and reached out to mirror Jimmy, his fingers curling around into the footman’s hair. Jimmy’s cheek stung like he’d been slapped and all he could think about was getting more contact with Thomas’s skin.

“Shite,” Jimmy said, and leaned forward to press his lips against Thomas’s. The under-butler wrapped his arms around Jimmy’s back and they kissed for a long moment, neither wanting to break away.

They were interrupted by something brushing up against the side of the shed with a low snarl. Jimmy pulled away, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“Jimmy?” Thomas said, worried, “It’s alright love, don’t do that.”

“Shh,” Jimmy hissed and squeezed Thomas’s hand, “I’m not upset. I heard something. Outside. Listen.”

Nothing but the whistling wind and the strange sort of muffled quietness that only comes with a snowstorm.

“Jimmy, I don’t hear...” Thomas was cut off mid sentence by an undeniable growl from outside.

They exchanged a look.

“A wolf?” Jimmy mouthed and Thomas shook his head.

“England hasn’t had wolves since the eighteenth century,” Thomas whispered. “Probably a badger or summat.”

“Do badgers growl?”

Thomas shrugged. His lips were red from where they had been kissing and Jimmy was tempted to just climb into his lap and forget whatever beast was roaming around in the snow.

Until there was a scratching at the door.

Jimmy took up one of the larger pieces of firewood and held it up like a buccaneer wielding a sword. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

“Badgers definitely don’t talk,” Thomas muttered and Jimmy gestured rudely in his direction.

Jimmy tiptoed to the door and peeped out - it was too dark to see anything so he unlatched it and made to go outside.

“What are you doing?” Thomas hissed, but Jimmy had already pushed the door open a crack. The howling wind caught the door and threw it open, sending a billow of snow inside. A great, four-legged shape bounded in, knocking Jimmy aside and making straight for Thomas’s prone form.

“No, get away from him!” Jimmy yelled, brandishing the log.

But Thomas was laughing instead of screaming and the creature was on his lap, legs in the air, tail wagging happily.

It was only bloody _Isis_.

“Well, at least we found the damned dog,” Thomas laughed. “And I won’t tell his lordship how you nearly bludgeoned her to death.”

Jimmy threw the stick aside and wrestled the door shut. “You should tell him,” he smirked, “maybe he’ll give me a promotion too.”


End file.
